


Hidden Hearts

by Angelology



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: GTA AU, M/M, miscommunication everywhere what else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:50:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelology/pseuds/Angelology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After tension arises between Michael and Gavin in the aftermath of a bad week and a failed heist, Michael begins to doubt whether their relationship can work out. When Geoff approaches him with a deep undercover job, he takes it, thinking it best for them to get away from each other for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whalehuntingboyfriends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/gifts).



> Merry Christmas - uh, Happy New Year to my fave <3  
> Many thanks to gavsmogar over on tumblr for reading over this and helping me :D  
> And Jos of course for always being wonderfully helpful :')

Michael was just about ready to rank the week as the worst fucking week of all time, _ever,_ before it was even through.  

Monday, in all honesty, wasn’t all that bad. Good, even, for a while. Geoff had called them all in, eager to flesh out their next heist. It wouldn’t be as big as their previous ones, he claimed, as it was more to keep up appearances and - more importantly - keep their suppliers happy.

They had been running into problems with that, apparently, as Geoff and Jack reported. Their suppliers were getting annoyed at the Fake AH’s lack of activity, trying to up the price or cut them entirely with the promise of better buyers.

Michael hadn’t seen the issues first hand, not like the other two had. He’d taken it easy off the field for a while, but the Fake AH Crew had indeed been laying low as a whole for the past few months.

It wasn’t really intentional, but Ray and Ryan had gone overseas - and Michael and Gavin were becoming _something,_ and they decided to lay low and kind of deal with it together _-_ and so it kind of just left Geoff and Jack.

As far as Michael heard though, during that time, the most accomplishing that Geoff managed was completely buying out a bar of their whiskey. In only an hour.

So, the Fake AH Crew had taken a break for a couple months - a vacation, as Geoff had dubbed it. Only low hits done by the B Team, while the rest of the main crew used up their money from the successful heist they pulled off a few days before the break.

Ryan had insisted, for his vacation, he went on “ _important work business. Interrogations. You know, putting the fear of God into people’s hearts. Wait no, the devil. Definitely the devil.”_

They all know he went to Hawaii and, as Gavin stated, “ _sat on a damn hammock by the gorgeous beach and read Shakespeare or some crap.”_

“Unfortunately,” Geoff said, as they all sat down together around a table on that Monday, “break time is over. Now that Ray and Ryan are back in the country, I was planning on something even bigger in the future, but we need to pull off this heist before that. The other big thing I’m planning is going to take a while to get in motion, so we need this smaller heist. To keep it up.”

“Keeping it up with the Kardashians?” Ray asked, and Michael had glanced over to see him swinging back on his chair, trying to balance it on the one back leg. It was pretty much a broken chair - or spine - waiting to happen.

“Ray no,” Michael replied. “It’s ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians’. No _it_ in there.”

“My deepest and most sincere apologies.”

“Keeping up with _appearances,”_ Geoff cut in. “Time to show Los Santos the Fake AH is all together and we mean serious fucking business.”

“Fucking business? We run a brothel now? Seriously, I go to Hawaii for not even two months.” Ryan piped up, and Geoff sighed as Gavin sat up straighter, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“You bloody _did_ go to Hawaii!” Gavin excitedly exclaimed, and Ryan’s eyes widened as he realised his mistake.

“You see, Gavin,” Ryan began, but then Geoff threw up a hand, effectively stopping whatever Ryan was about to say.

“I swear to God I will fucking put you back on a job in fucking Alaska,” Geoff threatened, raised hand moving to change to a pointed finger. “I’ll fucking do it. Maybe North Pole, actually? Heard Santa Claus is looking for employees.”

“Aw, missed you too.”

Geoff’s composure folded, finger lowering and even cracked a grin, but then folded his arms.

“Right, back to business, assholes,” he announced, addressing them all now. “Michael, Jack, I want you two to go out and meet with Lockhelt. He’s got some real fucking good explosives on the market that I want to check out, they’ll be good to try out for this heist. Gav, Burnie wanted to meet you today. Ray, Ryan, you two need to meet up with some crews - show them you’re both back in town.”

They all nodded, except Ray who shot two thumbs up, but then lost balance on the chair and quickly flung himself forward to avoid falling backwards, the front legs hitting the floor with a harsh bang. Michael snickered as Geoff rolled his eyes, muttering.

Slowly, with the brief done with, they began to file out. Jack placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and asked to meet in an hour to discuss their meeting before he walked out. Eventually, it left just Gavin and Michael in the room.

“Good having all of us back, isn’t it?” Gavin grinned, getting up from his chair as Michael walked up behind him.

“Sure is, Boi,” Michael replied, entwining Gavin’s hands with his. Gavin smiled, swinging their hands slightly.

“This heist is gonna be bloody great,” Gavin said, obviously excited - just like the rest of them - about the prospect of a heist, no matter the size. “Ray’s been doing so much solo stuff, be good to have him back. And I even missed Ryan and his damn mask.”

“You know Ray probably won’t be around for much longer, right? That’s why Geoff’s trying to bring Team B in with more of our stuff,” Michael told him, staring seriously, and Gavin nodded.

“Mhm, I know. Damn shame, but it’ll be top working with the others. Even if it really may be our last time all properly together an’ all.”

Michael just nodded, then leaned in, one hand moving from Gavin’s grip to cup his cheek.

“You are ridiculously British for someone who’s spent the last year in America,” Michael teased, and Gavin playfully pouted.

“Michael, accents don’t go away in a year. Years, even, really. You’re a dope. You know this,” Gavin raised a finger, and Michael stared in confusion until Gavin’s finger touched Michael’s nose very briefly.

“Boop,” Gavin said, and Michael dissolved into giggles.

“You’re a grown fucking man acting like a three year old child, for fuck’s sake, remind me why I date you?” Michael joked, and Gavin leaned back like he was taking it into serious consideration.

“Because I have a great accent?”

“You’re fucking stupid,” Michael mumbled, fondly. Gavin just smiled, leaning in to kiss Michael.

Michael glanced nervously at the closed door - wary of the others walking in and seeing them. While they had announced their relationship a couple of weeks ago - and pretty much got met with the response of “yeah, we know” - Michael was still slightly afraid about being walked in on doing anything beyond holding hands.  
  
He had been reassured by Geoff, numerous times, that he was cool with it, “ _except if you hurt him. In which case, I’m not fucking cool with it and you’re getting your ass kicked.”_

But Michael still had a lingering fear, or something, that Geoff _didn’t_ actually approve - something which had made telling the others extremely hard, and it took a while before Michael finally agreed to, at Gavin’s persistence.

And it wasn’t just Geoff - it was the others, too, who were all so protective of Gavin, just like him. Michael suspected that if things went to shit - which he really, really hoped wouldn’t happen - all heads would turn to him. _Blame_ him.

His worry also extended outside of the crew - because it was dangerous, _so fucking dangerous -_  in their line of work for such a relationship. It was a weak point, something that other crews could attack to make the significant other fold like a house of cards.

He wanted to keep it as private as possible because he didn’t want to see anything happen to Gavin - didn’t want something to happen to himself in case Gavin did, indeed, fold.

The lingering wariness - even after telling the crew - remained, despite their casual approval of it. Michael just couldn’t seem to shake himself from it.

Gavin just scoffed and kissed him. Michael relaxed almost immediately, told himself to stop _worrying,_ they were with the crew _and it was fine. Everything would be fine, no matter what anyone else saw._

When they leaned back, Michael grinned, almost at complete ease, his earlier worries gone from mind. “I think I date you for the kissing. Wow. Sorry, Gavvy, using you for your body here.”

Gavin laughed, and Michael felt the familiar feeling of his insides pretty much turning into baby food mush. He couldn’t really help it - just leaned in and kissed him again, briefly.

“Oh, only a quick kiss. I see,” Gavin says, trying to do a weird, very butchered voice of David Attenborough, “It means you have obviously formed a desire for more than that first kiss, but want to keep it short to deny those true feelings for _more_ than that. Would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it, for him to fall in love with the person, and not just the kiss?”

“Holy hell, Gavin, shut the fuck _up,_ ” Michael sighed, “You’re a fucking tragedy of a person, meaning for me to be dating you obviously means I am too. Of course I’m in love with ‘ _the person_ ’. Fucking dumbass, dumbest things you’ve ever said.”

“I tried to be all poetic, Michael, you know - try and go all psychologist and work out your motives. You’re a dangerous man, Mr. Jones.”

“Oh my god. It’s like, I want to kiss you again, but you won’t _shut the fuck up,_ ” Michael exasperatedly told him.

Gavin smiled, then pulled him in for another, longer and deeper kiss. Ended up nearly tripping over the chair he had been sitting on earlier, but then sat down on it and sat still as Michael straddled him, slowly kissing around his jaw and neck.

Gavin’s back was to the door, and Michael was a little preoccupied to care about anything other than kissing as much of the exposed skin on Gavin as he could, so he didn’t really notice someone walking into the room until they - well, had walked into the room and announced their presence.

They cleared their throat, and Michael looked up to see Jeremy standing there, hands up in surrender. Michael immediately sat back, worry beginning to stir in his stomach because _he wasn’t part of the main crew, not yet. He didn’t know about the two of them._

“I mean, I was going to ask if you guys have seen some paperwork I think I left in here, but uh. You know what, I think something came up anyway, don’t need it now, uh. I have anywhere to be but here right now, where you two are probably about to fuck each other right over that important paperwork-”

Jeremy was cut off by Gavin reaching out, picking up a folder, and then throwing it over his shoulder at him.  
  
“Yep, uh, thanks Gavin. Yep, okay, great, see you guys later I guess,” Jeremy turned and walked out, in an almost robotic fashion, and Gavin only took a few seconds before he exploded into laughter.

 _It’s Jeremy,_ he told himself, resolutely, resting his head on Gavin’s shoulder. _He’s fine with it. He’s not a worry. Fucking chill, Jones._

Then something sparked at Michael because - yeah, he had important job things he had to do now, involving the heist. So did Gavin. They were back, complete involvement dedicated to the crew and these next heists and -

“Shit,” Michael muttered, pulling away from Gavin, hands resting on either shoulder while he leaned back and looked up at the roof, cursing whatever God decided so much annoying work had to go into stealing and hijacking things.

“What?” Gavin asked in concern, “You don’t need to worry about Jeremy, if that’s what you’re worried about. Pretty sure he already figured it out a while ago,” Gavin reassured, and Michael just heavily sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s not it. I gotta meet with Jack and do this deal. Lockhelt’s a fucking tool, though, I swear. Fucking hate going near him and his stupid fucking lackeys,” Michael replied, already feeling the irritation begin to churn in his stomach.

“Why’s that?” Gavin asked, tilting his head slightly and - oh, he doesn’t remember. _Well then._

“It was the two of us, you know, one of our first jobs together? I think even our first. We hit it off well so Geoff put us on this guy. Remember yet?” Michael asked, and Gavin squinted slightly before his eyes widened, and he grinned at Michael.

“Yeah! I remember that. One of his lackeys tried to - what did they call it? Thorough patdown for weapons on me?”

“Yep,” Michael grumbled, beginning to relive the memory. Began to feel his fists clench.

“I mean, you kicked that guy’s ass though, when he suggested it. Really scared him. Lockhelt even gave us a discount about it,” Gavin continued, and Michael just nodded, still feeling like his blood was simmering.

And he knew it was probably stupid - back then, at least - to feel so strongly about protecting Gavin with what had happened there. And nothing had really even happened, not really, just some dumb lackey suggesting some dumb thing and Michael had flipped it. Even though he didn’t really know Gavin at that stage.

Although, it had really always been there, he figured. That strong urge to protect Gavin - even though he could very well take care of himself.

“Yeah, but he didn’t hire anyone better. They’re all fucking assholes with that fucking royal asswipe,” Michael continued to grumble, the latter part mostly under his breath.

“Well, no, but aren’t most crews in this city all assholes?” Gavin replied, and Michael rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and you’re the biggest one of all,” he teased, deciding to get off the topic, and Gavin squawked, going for a playful hit to Michael’s chest. Michael managed to avoid it and stood up, offering a hand out to help Gavin off the chair.

“Thanks boi,” Gavin said as he stood, a delighted smile on his face that made Michael have to resist kissing him again.

“Come to mine tonight?” Gavin then asked, quiet and _unsure,_ and Michael just quickly reached out to hold his hands as he nodded.

“Sounds like a plan, boi,” Michael answered, before he let go of Gavin’s hands and steps back. “I’ll see you then.”

He walked out with a giddy kind of feeling - some kind of dumb butterfly in his stomach that he could never quite get rid of when he was around Gavin.

-

An hour later, he met up with Jack. They arranged the meeting with Lockhelt for the next day.

Another hour gone by after that, he got a text from Gavin as he was sprawled across the couch of the Fake AH’s base. He was on shit-tastic dying streak in a game, which basically consisted of spawning _and then fucking dying again not even two seconds later._

Getting the text notification was basically a fucking blessing - an excuse to get the fuck out of that game lobby.

His happiness after realising the text was from Gavin was pretty much immediately squashed from the message itself.

_**Can’t do tonight, sorry boi. Something with Burnie came up. Raincheck.** _

Michael sighed heavily, turning the phone screen off. He sat there for a few moments, wondering if maybe he could get away with pretending he never saw it and rock up anyway - but diminished that thought immediately.

He knew the next few weeks would leave the both of them busy with very little time to see each other except for crew meetings and other small and limited opportunities, so Michael had the great idea of savouring every moment he could with Gavin before that.

No such luck, of course.

He unlocked the phone, typed his quick reply back which held Gavin accountable for the raincheck, and then grabbed his controller.

May as well work out his frustrations in a new, hopefully less frustrating game lobby.

 

\--

 

On the Tuesday, Jack came and picked him up from his apartment around noon.

“Why is this so early again?” Michael asked as he climbed into the passenger side. It was unusual, after all, for deals to take place in broad daylight. Too many people bustling about - too many _witnesses -_ and if shit got ugly, there was going to be a lot more collateral damage.

Not to mention it was much easier to escape the cops at night, where they could work with the darkness and evade the very easily visible bright red and blue lights.

Jack glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “Because the warehouses are fucking creepy at night, dude.”

Michael gaped at him. “You’re kidding me. _That’s_ why?”

Jack grinned and shook his head, turning onto the main road. “No. It was the only space Lockhelt had free today. But my point still stands.”

“No argument here,” Michael replied. Going anywhere near the warehouses at night sent some serious chills down his spine.

They drove the rest of the way with casual conversation, but Michael could tell Jack wanted to say something.

“What is it?” Michael finally prodded, and Jack glanced at him carefully before sighing.

“Just wanted to check you aren’t going to deck this guy as soon as we see him. I know he’s a dick, and likes trying to rile you up particularly, but we also kind of need him right now,” Jack told him, and Michael rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Michael muttered, unhappy he was being questioned about it. Hated even thinking about the damn guy. “It’s alright, if I have anything to do with it, he’ll find out just how well his explosives work first-hand, after we’re all done talking.”

“ _Michael,”_ Jack warned, and Michael huffed.

“Kidding. Maybe. Really kind of want to blow up his expensive car in his little bitch ass face,” Michael admitted. Jack gave him a _look_ and Michael relented, throwing his hands up.

“Whatever, no blowing stuff up that belongs to Lockhelt.”

“ _And?”_

“What are you, my fucking elementary school teacher? Fine, no blowing up Lockhelt himself then.”

Jack laughed as Michael sulked.

“I _really_ want to blow something up,” Michael mumbled as they pulled up to the warehouse they were meeting in.

“Well, the things you need to blow stuff up with depend on this deal,” Jack told him, and Michael just folded his arms, unimpressed, as he walked behind Jack.

When they walked up to the warehouse, and Michael saw Lockhelt’s stupid face again, all of his hatred for the man ignited.

It was his arrogant and conceited attitude that drove Michael up the wall, as well. While he could definitely deal with it - he had to with many other people for deals - he just despised this damn man ever since that incident. Proceeding dealings with the man just didn’t help anything.

Jack, thankfully, took on the talking. Michael just stood behind him, arms folded, glaring at anyone who tried to look at him.

He was barely listening - Jack usually had these things handled well on his own, after all. But he was listening enough to hear Lockhelt’s subtle change of tone and attitude - could tell the man was beginning to get overconfident, trying to push Jack for tougher deals because he seemed to think he had to leverage to do so.

“That’s a stupid amount of money to ask for,” Jack finally snapped, and Lockhelt just smirked.

“But you can afford it, can’t you?” Lockhelt teased, in a stupid, mocking voice that made Michael want to unfold his arms and punch the man right in the face.

“Can also afford to take ourselves over to another supplier and pay them to get these explosives in, and it’d still be cheaper. And you already _have_ them in,” Jack argued. The other man just looked very amused at this whole situation. “You’re charging way too much.”

“But can you wait that long? For another supplier to bring them in?” Lockhelt asked, and _damn_ , he did have them there. The explosives he was offering were hard to get - would take a while to track down, and then longer to get them in.

While they might not need the explosives until the bigger heist, it would be nice to try out a couple on the smaller one. See how well they worked - have a test-run on them before they went for the real deal.

“I think, quite frankly,” Lockhelt continued, “that I can charge however much I want, and you’re going to pay for it.”

“Then you think wrong,” Jack replied, and Michael could hear him becoming continuously more annoyed.

“Well, maybe we can come to a deal? See, I have some more friends now. Amazing what people will do if you pay them off, right? Anyway, so these friends I have - well, they drive a tough deal, I’ll give them that.” Lockhelt was still way too fucking smug considering Michael and Jack were on the brink of not even dealing with the guy - and Michael straightened up, unfolded his arms.

“Get on with it,” Jack gritted out. Lockhelt just smirked confidently back at him.

“Now, you’ll want to listen to this. Especially you, grumpy cat over there,” he pointed to Michael. “See, these friends, well they tell me they have this one vehicle they’re currently working on to service it. Just fixing up some damage it took. And they’re telling me - this car is a one of a kind sort of deal. It’s so rare that they’ve never seen it before.”

Michael was pretty sure he had never glared more than right at that moment.

“And so of course, my new friends going on about it and all, I gotta check it out, right? And well, I recognised that numberplate immediately,” Lockhelt gloated, and Michael was pretty sure he was about a second away from punching him in the face.

“Was it ‘I’m a giant asswipe 101’?” Michael gritted out, and Lockhelt’s gaze fell on him. Michael could swear his cheeks were going to split apart with how widely he smiled.

“Ah, not quite. You’ll see in a second, I suppose,” The man said, then gestured a shooing motion to one of his lackeys.

The lackey then nodded, and hurried away, out of Michael’s sight. Then the large garage door of the warehouse began to open, and Michael and Jack looked at each other and frowned, hands nearing their weapons.

Then Michael heard an engine roar to life - a very, _very_ familiar engine - and his eyes widened when he realised _he fucking knew exactly what was going on._

If heads could exploded from rage - with the red forehead and the steam coming out of his ears and everything -  Michael was pretty sure his brains would already be splattering the walls. Jack figured it out from Michael’s own reaction, and he turned back to watch the door with alarm.

Michael watched with growing anger - and a very strongly growing desire to fucking slaughter Lockhelt right there and then - as his car, his _baby_ , drove in.

“What the _fuck_?” He exploded at Lockhelt, taking strides up to the man before Jack grabbed him by the arm, keeping him back.

"Oh, I'm glad you recognise it," Lockhelt sneered. "See, I paid quite a fucking price to get my hands on it."

"She's not yours," Michael snarled. "Fuck you. Don't you fucking lay another finger down."

Michael made a mental note to never again let anyone service his car that he didn't trust with his own life. Stupid, unloyal servicemen - they'd get a piece of Michael's mind, at the least. Or a taste of the explosives.

"Ah, but you see, I won't. Not if you co-operate here, that is. If you don't, then we're going to have some trouble. Well, _she_ is." Lockhelt gestured to the car, and the lackey stepped out. Michael was pretty sure he was going to slowly kill both of them.

"What do you need, Lockhelt?" Jack asked, a barely hidden fury in his voice.

"I told you, I need you to co-operate. I need you to pay for these explosives I'm offering, at the price that I'm offering. Not the one you're trying to bargain." He was too smug, too arrogant and _fucking hell_ Michael was going to make his life an actual living hell.

"Your prices are fucking ridiculous," Jack fired back, clearly getting more and more frustrated. "We're not paying that fucking much for explosives."

"I would consider you re-advise that mindset you got going there. The uh, sorry, what was it? The _double-oh-mogar_ ," Lockhelt snickered and yep - yep Michael was going to fucking bury this man's head so far up his own asshole that there would be no end or beginning to him, "Has been given the prime opportunity to try out these explosives. Under the hood, under the car, in the seats. Re-advise, gentlemen."

Lockhelt waved at both Michael and Jack, signalling them to talk between themselves. Michael turned to Jack, fists clenched and head probably about to explode.

"He's bluffing, he has to be," Michael told him with a quiet voice. "You can't do such a thing to a car that beautiful."

"Lockhelt's fucking _crazy_ , Michael," Jack replied. "He'll do anything to make sure we bend his way. He wouldn't give a damn about making a dent in your car."

Michael sighed in frustration, ready to tear out his hair. He glanced at his beautiful car again - his goddamn baby - trying to see if he could spot the explosives.

"Fuck, it's too far to see if he's put them on," Michael grumbled, and Jack frowned, also taking a glance.

"Well, he also did put them in places we can't really see from the outside," Jack reminded him, and Michael raised a hand to rub against his head in frustration.

"This is a fucking predicament," Jack mumbled. "We'd be losing a fucking lot of money if we did buy - but, having these explosives would be good and well, your car."

"My car is the top priority right now," Michael reinforced, pointing at it. Thinking about the hours of work he had put into that car - making sure it was always cleaned and fucking gorgeous for all to witness was a serious commitment he was not ready to see go to waste. "I don't give a shit, I'll pay you back for it. Just fucking take the deal."

Jack scratched his beard in consideration. "So much money I could buy bacon with," he mourned, and Michael elbowed him playfully.

"Dude, my car is the priority here. Not your _stomach,_ " Michael scolded.

"But bacon," Jack mumbled wistfully. "So much _bacon_ , Michael."

"And we're done talking here. Let's get this over with - the sooner we walk out, the sooner I can walk back in and punch this guy in the fucking face," Michael said, and Jack nodded, turning back to Lockhelt. The fact that Jack hadn’t argued against Michael punching him in the face meant the man was probably all-for it at that stage.

" _Gentlemen_?" Lockhelt asked, in a musical kind of tone. Michael folded his arms again to refrain from punching the man in the face.

"We'll take the deal. Crate of explosives, and the car, for that stupid amount of money you asked for," Jack answered, clearly still unhappy - stomach grumbling right at that moment, which made Michael roll his eyes. _Typical._

"You owe me bacon," Jack muttered to Michael as Lockhelt grinned at them. He turned to one of his lackeys, bringing them close to him, whispering them orders, and then turned back to Jack and Michael.

"Great, glad to see some good deals happening. Pass over the money, I'll pass over the crate. Then, the car," Lockhelt ordered, and Michael's glare returned stronger than ever.

Jack pulled out his phone, and began to transfer the money over. Michael stood, impatient, eyes moving from Lockhelt to his car.

"There," Jack announced, and Lockhelt lit up with glee as his own phone let out a chime. He checked it, a wicked grin spreading over his face as he confirmed the transaction.

"Good doing business with you, gentlemen. The crate is over there," Lockhelt waved his hand to his left, where his lackeys were standing guard around the crate. "My men will transfer it somewhere, if you want, considering the two of you probably won't be able to move it, I assume."

Jack nodded, listing off the pick up point, and then messaging someone else from the crew to go to the pick it up.

"And?" Michael asked, impatient and so fucking tired of this man - he just wanted his damn car, for fuck's sake. Stolen from him, then threatened with a fiery end - yeah, Michael wasn't fucking happy.

"Oh yes, and," Lockhelt said in glee, and Michael's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the man, and he could feel Jack tense beside him as well, waiting for a move.

He pulled out a remote, and Michael's eyes widened because holy shit - _no, fucking - what the fuck, why the fuck, they fucking paid to make sure this wouldn't fucking happen, what the fuck -_

"We had a deal!" Jack yelled, furious, and Michael was right beside him, yelling the same thing, just with a few more explicit words being hurled at the man.

"We did," Lockhelt jeered. "You gave me a great load of money, which will help pay for the explosives I'm about to lose and the car I had to pay for, and, well, any other damages. So really, you paid for your own destruction here."

"Fuck you!" Both of them yelled in sync, and both of them had their guns out - pointed right at Lockhelt, trying to get their shot in before the man pressed the button.

They're too late, and the shots rang out just a millisecond after Michael watched his car explode into flames. The explosion is deafening, and Michael was pretty sure the world slowed down for a few moments, watching in slow-motion as his beautiful car is destroyed from the press of a fucking _button._

The heat and light reached them, both of them instinctively bringing their arms up to cover their faces. They’re far enough out, though, so that the heat only briefly washed over them and the light was barely blinding.

Michael lowered his arm slowly and watched the car burn - _oh God, all that fucking work, all that money -_ watching it burn in bright flames before him. He was pretty sure he could hear his heart shattering alongside the windows. _Those beautifully tinted windows_.

Jack grabbed his arm, hauling him backwards as shots began to ring out around them. They obviously weren’t happy about the murder of their boss.

 _Yeah, well,_ Michael thought bitterly, _he fucking deserved a lot worse._

"We gotta fucking move!" Jack shouted, and Michael took one last despondent glance at his burning baby before turning around and running to the exit.

 

\--

 

So yeah, Tuesday sucks, and basically kick-starts Michael’s worst week of all time.  _Ever._

On Wednesday, things don't really look up either.

He arrived atthe Fake AH Base, somewhat late in the morning - because hey, he wasn't exactly pumped to get out of bed and go meet the crew after yesterday's whole fuckfest. Jack had, thankfully, done all the talking with Geoff, and sent Michael home to go mourn the loss of his car.

Except no one was at the base. No one had sent him a text - not even Gavin. Which, honestly, was probably fair enough considering Michael had decided to ignore his sympathetic text he sent the day before after hearing the unfortunate news about his vehicle. But it's strange, really - to see no one at all in the base, for it to be quiet enough that Michael's own footsteps begin to spook him a little.

He sent out a group text, asking where the fuck everyone was, but doesn't get a reply. He huffed, flopping down onto the sofa and flicking on the TV.

A text comes through almost over an hour later, when Michael's lying down on the couch and had just about drifted off to sleep. He hadn't slept well the previous night - too angry, too livid, just kept pacing up and down his apartment and considered if he'd want to pay for the drywall damage if he punched it.

He grumbled, annoyed at losing his chance of sleep, but couldn't help the relief that washed over him when he read the text from Jack. Let him know they were all out on a job - except Gavin - and since Michael came in late it meant that he missed out on it.

While relief had been the first emotion - relief that they were safe and Michael was not, in fact, somehow the last standing man - it quickly turned to annoyance. He wouldn't have been late, usually - he pretty much never was, in fact. And it annoyed him because the boys didn't even text him to ask if he wanted to do the job, no text to say to get his ass moving because he was holding them all up and they were waiting on him.

So, great, the whole damn crew except him went off and had a great old adventure and purposely left him behind. With no message, nothing to let him know until way too fucking late.

It's stupid to think it - he knew it, and his annoyance only grew because now he's annoyed at himself for even being annoyed, because they probably had it all under control with the four of them.

While the rest of them are out for the next - what Jack estimated to be - four hours, it left Michael completely alone and completely bored at the base. And everything about the previous day sucked and hung over his head like the world's most annoying fucking thundercloud, so he sat in his own misery and bitterness.

He could've returned to his own apartment, of course, but it's too cramped and even lonelier there, and he knew his thoughts would only grow worse.

Besides, he figured, Gavin would probably cheer him up. Some stupid joke, something dumb he did during the job, anything to try and make Michael smile. At least, he hoped that's what would happen - because he was seriously in need of something to lighten him up right now.

The had managed to doze off on the couch, and awoke to the others sprawled out across the 'lounge room' of the base, where Michael was lying. They were quiet - all on their own devices, heads down and voices hushed.

Michael nearly fell back asleep again - something settled in him now, because he wasn’t alone, and the earlier bitterness faded away. He realised it was probably something to do with how tired he had been - just tired and grumpy and irritable.

But there's movement and the other end of the couch, disturbing his near-sleep, and he looked up to see Ryan sitting down near his feet. Michael curled up while he slept, leaving enough room for Ryan to sit down comfortably on the other end without invading his space.

Ryan looked over at him and shot him a quick smile before going back to his phone.

“How was it?” Michael asked, his voice croaky and quiet, so he cleared his throat and tried again, this time in a louder, more clear voice.

Ryan glanced over again. “It was alright. Nothing interesting, to be honest. You’d be glad you missed it.”

“Yeah, me and all my buddies here at the base had a great time by ourselves,” Michael replied, and Ryan let out a small huff of amusement.

Michael moved to get up, noticing with a grimace the couch pattern that had been indented into his arms - and possibly on one half of his face. He glanced up over the back of the sofa, noticing Jack and Geoff in the corner of the room, talking in quiet voices. Ray was leaning against the back on the couch, and then looked up and shot a thumbs up at Michael.

Michael fondly shook his head in amusement before he turned around and sat on the couch normally.

“Where’s Gav?” Michael asked, having immediately noticed his lack of presence in the room.

“Uh, he said he was doing something for Burnie, I think?” Ryan replied, looking back down at his phone. Michael nodded, then let out a huge yawn.

“Dude, you were _just_ napping. How are you yawning?” Ray piped up, and Michael got up from the couch - intending to go get a coffee or Red Bull.

“You,” Michael said as he passed Ray, kicking him lightly in the side, “Need to shut the fuck up and stop judging me.”

“Only God can do that,” Ray responded, “quote from Hannah Montana or something. Also, don’t kick me. That’s rude.”

“Why are we kicking each other?” Geoff asked, somewhat exasperated, and walked over to Michael.

“Because Ray fucking quoted Hannah Montana,” Michael answered, gesturing to said person sitting on the floor as he walked to the small bar fridge they had.

“Actually, he quoted Miley Cyrus,” Ryan corrected, a smug smile on his face. Geoff sighed.

“I quoted it _after_ you kicked me!” Ray defended, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Would also like to point out Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus are the same fucking person, so.”  
  
“Then you obviously need to be kicked again to make up for quoting her,” Geoff chuckled. “Seriously, Ray, fucking Miley Cyrus?”

“Forget the haters,” Ray mumbled, half-heartedly singing it.

“Nobody loves you, shut the fuck up,” Geoff cut him off, and Ray just sadly sighed before returning to his phone.

Michael reached into the bar fridge and pulled out a Red Bull, grimacing as he swallowed it down. It was too full of sugar and just didn’t mix well with his mouth that tasted funny from his nap. He threw the can in the bin when he was done, and when he turned Gavin was standing at the hallway of the room.

Gavin glanced at Michael for a moment - trying to figure _something_ out, and it set Michael on edge because he wasn’t sure what Gavin was looking for. What he’d find.

When Gavin realised his glance had been caught, he smiled weakly at Michael - which really didn’t help Michael’s growing unsettlement - before glancing around at the others.

Michael frowned, trying to catch Gavin’s eye again, but miserably failed as Gavin just seemed to refuse to acknowledge his presence.

Gavin went over and sat next to Geoff, who had sat on one of the chairs around the table. Michael frowned, a spark of annoyance rising up. He knew his annoyance from the day before was probably lingering - and something like that shouldn’t have annoyed him any other day, but he couldn’t quell it.

Michael sat back down on the couch, nursing another Red Bull in his hand and glaring down at it. Ryan glanced at Michael, then at Gavin, and his eyebrows furrowed, but decidedly said nothing for which Michael was glad for.

A few minutes passed, during which Michael had flipped over the channel on the TV from some shitty infomercial to some weird soap opera drama.

Ray started mocking it behind him, copying exaggerated name calling.

"Oh, don't leave, Carlos, my lover!" Ray mocked at one point, and Michael sighed. While he wasn’t really even paying attention, the constant comments were beginning to settle on his nerves.

 _You’re just snappy from yesterday,_ he inwardly reprimanded himself, _stop it._

"Ray, can't you see? You're disturbing Michael's favourite show," Ryan commented, and Michael's head quickly whipped to Ryan and then glared at _him_.

Ryan smiled innocently and shrugged. Ray just snickered. Michael huffed, figuring it was probably best to just ignore them both in case he did something dumb.

Michael took the moment to glance back over at Gavin, who had moved with Geoff towards the kitchen. Geoff was preparing something, while Gavin leaned over the counter and spoke with him in low tones, too quiet for Michael to make out.

Ryan nudged his elbow into Michael gently, pointedly glancing at Gavin. "Something up?" He asked Michael quietly.

Michael shook his head. “No," he replied, but then stopped in hesitation. Doubt began to settle heavily in his chest. “I don’t… know?”

"We were fine Monday," Michael continued to elaborate. "We didn't see each other yesterday, and we didn't really talk. Which was probably my fault for not replying to his text."

"He's probably just wound up with work," Ryan suggested. "Nothing to worry about. You know how he gets.”

"Don't I just," Michael mumbled. "But yeah, I suppose that's it. Nothing's really up, then, I suppose."

Ryan just hummed in thought, but left it alone. Michael pulled out his phone and mindlessly scrolled for a while, getting wrapped up enough in a Reddit thread to not realise Gavin had left the room.

When he did glance up and realised Gavin had left, he rolled his head back, looking up at the ceiling - considering if trying to track him down was worth it. He came to his decision and shut off his phone, shoving it in his back pocket as he stood up and placed the Red Bull on the table.

He walked to Gavin's work room, one with three large monitors that Michael knew was primarily _meant_ for work, but also knew Gavin used them more for gaming anyway. The earlier bitterness began to rise as he wondered if Gavin had really just said _nothing_ to him and then walked out to finish his game.

He hesitated before he knocked on the door, but eventually did so after a few moments of pondering. Allowed himself in when Gavin said a muffled 'come in', Gavin turned in his chair to face him - and Michael quickly looked at the monitors and, surprisingly, saw he was actually working.

"What's up, Boi?" Michael asked, and Gavin looked at him in confusion for a moment before smiling again. But there was something not quite right about it, Michael could tell, because it wasn't the same carefree, joyous smile he usually had whenever they talked. This was a smile he would use when he talked at deals - carefully placed and somewhat restrained.

Michael quelled the spark of annoyance that rose in his chest.  _Wound up with work_ , he reminded himself.

“Stuck on this bloody thing Burnie gave me,” Gavin explained, weakly gesturing to his monitors. “Had to ask Geoff for help, but even he’s not sure about it.”

And there’s something beginning to stir in Michael’s stomach again - because Gavin had gone and asked _Geoff,_ instead of him, when usually Michael was the first one Gavin went to.

He tries to play it off as a joke. “Couldn’t ask the bored guy sleeping on the couch?” He teased, trying to keep his tone light.

Gavin bit his lip and visibly shrunk in on himself, which made Michael’s stomach stir with a bit of both guilt and annoyance. Annoyance because Gavin was obviously aware of what he had done - had  _purposely_ avoided asking Michael for help, and instead had gone to Geoff first.

“I was uh,” Gavin fumbled, pausing before he figured out his next words, “unsure if you wanted to be bugged or not.”

“Unsure? Then maybe a good idea is to, you know, ask the guy himself,” Michael retorted, still trying to keep it teasing but he knows that Gavin can hear the bitterness that’s hiding in his tone. The annoyance and irritation.

Gavin leaned back in his chair, staring at Michael. His face was blank - unreadable, something he would do on deals when he was trying to work out something. It only served to annoy Michael more.

Michael sighed, and Gavin seemed to snap out of it, leaning forward from his chair, looking at Michael sheepishly.  
  
It’s awkward - and it’s sickening, somewhat, because between the two of them _awkward_ is just something they don’t associate with - and Michael wanted to get out as soon as possible to escape it.

“You didn’t reply to my text,” Gavin stated, his voice quiet. “Wasn’t sure how you’d act after yesterday. And - and you looked annoyed, back in there, I didn’t think you’d want me bugging you about this.”

“I didn’t reply because I was annoyed _yesterday._ It’s a new day, Gavin,” Michael clipped, and Gavin pretty much hunched in on himself, the chair slowly spinning as his legs nervously bounced about. Michael softened. “I was annoyed back in _there_ because you had decided to ignore me, dude.”  
  
“Oh,” Gavin muttered, awkwardly. Michael was motionless, but his mind was racing and his heart thumping heavily. He waited, though, for Gavin to say something more - to somehow fix this situation with some silly joke or bright smile.

But he doesn’t.

“I uh, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to this, Burnie needs it by tonight,” Gavin said, leaning back and wildly gesturing to the monitors.

Michael stood, shocked for a minute because _that wasn’t what he was meant to say._ Gavin was looking at him expectantly - obviously waiting for _something._

 _For him to leave_ , he realised with a jolt.  
  
Michael was able to nod, while there was a plummeting feeling in his stomach because _it’s not meant to be like this - it’s meant to be all fine, it was meant to be some stupid jokes to help with the day before and it’s just meant to okay. It’s not meant to be like this._

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Michael replied, his tone flat and somewhat cold and Gavin almost visibly recoiled from it.

_Not meant to be like this._

He was halfway down the hall when he heard Gavin call out his name.

And he’s not sure that he could do it, walk back in there after that _disaster_ of a conversation.

Sure, Michael got annoyed with Gavin a lot. When Gavin fucked up on his end and made Michael walk into a small room of fully armed guys during a fight with another crew, for example. When Gavin went out onto the field too confident and cocky and ended up getting shot.

But their conversations after such incidents were always underlined with something kind of _fond,_ nothing ever as bitter and as stilted as that was. And suddenly, he realised, he couldn’t walk back into that room with his stomach as heavy as lead and a very high-strung annoyance that was waiting to be released under his skin.

He clenched his fists, put his head down, and walked faster.

 

\--

  


Thursday, Michael hoped, would bring something better.

It didn’t, naturally.

He had accompanied Jack on a job into finding other explosive suppliers in the morning. They managed to secure a deal, which made Michael figure that okay, _great, this day might just look up._

Jack dropped him off back at the base, letting him know he might go see how Ryan and Ray were going on their end of another deal. Michael waved him off, and walked into the base in considerably higher morale than the previous day.

Which pretty much evaporated immediately when, after walking through a quiet hallway with empty rooms, he came to the kitchen. Gavin was standing there, staring confusedly at the toaster.

Michael stood still for a moment, figured he could probably move through the kitchen before Gavin even realised he was there - the previous day’s conversation hanging over his head.

Gavin stared at the toaster for a few more moments before trying to press his bread down, groaning in frustration when the lever sprung right back up.

“Damn it,” Gavin muttered, “what do you _want_ from me, you damn thing?” He began to press down the lever with each word, somehow thinking the toaster would accept the bread after the fiftieth push.

Michael sighed - mostly at himself because this was probably going to end terribly and he should walk away right _now -_ and walked over to the kitchen counter, leaning over it, into Gavin’s view as he inspected the toaster.

Michael had totally planned on just trying to act as casual as possible, hope that they could sweep all the previous days events under the rug and act normal again. Like how it was meant to be.

“So, what the fuck have you done now?” Michael asked, jokingly, but also trying to figure out what the hell Gavin had done to it. He had two pieces of bread waiting to be toasted, but the toaster was obviously just not having it today.

Gavin was silent for a few seconds. “It’s fine,” he told Michael, somewhat curtly, and well - there goes Michael’s illusion of hoping it would act out all fine and whatnot. _Should’ve just walked right past the kitchen, fucking hell._

But he was there now - and had, in fact, figured what was wrong with the toaster.

“You’re an idiot,” Michael muttered, before reaching over to play with the plug of the toaster. “You don’t even have it plugged in.”

He took out the plug for whatever other appliance it was running and switched it with the toaster. He pressed the lever down, and the bread stayed down.

“Would’ve figured it out,” Gavin retorted, a slightly childish taunt in his voice - the tone he usually had whenever one of them scolded him for some silly mistake. “Didn’t need help for that.”

“You fucking need help feeding yourself, don’t be so confident,” Michael argued. They were both standing upright, staring at each other competitively, the space between them distanced from the kitchen counter.

“Like you can act all high ‘n mighty, you completely ignored me yesterday,” Gavin replied, clearly annoyed. Because - well, the fact was, Michael never ignored Gavin. He always responded to his dumb retorts and questions, but never completely _ignored_ him.

He felt shame at the way he remembered lowering his head and walking faster. But, he quenched it, and reasoned with himself.

“And you asked me to _leave,”_ Michael accused, voicing his reasoning aloud. “Don’t even start.”

“I thought you’d need space, you still seemed annoyed -” Gavin tried to explain, hands flailing around himself.

“I never told you I needed space, Gavin, and as I remember, _you_ asked _me_ to leave. Who needed the space then?” Michael replied, his voice dangerously lowering.

“I tried to call you _back_ in _,_ Michael!” Gavin proclaimed.

“Too late, Gav,” Michael remarked. “I was well out the door, giving you want _you_ wanted. You’re like a fucking child, you want one thing and then change your mind in the next second -”

“I wanted to explain, and I needed your help as well, with -”  
  
“Too fucking late,” Michael repeated, cutting him off. He knew he should’ve calmed down - should’ve tried to talk reasonably, talk like sensible fucking adults, but his mouth just kept firing off, fueled by the anger from the previous days.

Gavin was silent and stiff, before he let out a deep breath of air and stood up straighter. “This is why I didn’t want to talk to you yesterday. You’re acting like a right prick,” Gavin told him, folding his arms and glaring defiantly.

“I’m not the one acting like a fucking _baby.”_

They were both startled by the toast popping up, and Gavin quickly got the pieces out of the toaster and put them on his plate. Michael had never seen someone so aggressively apply their butter to a piece of toast.

Suddenly, his movements stopped, and Michael looked up to see Gavin suddenly slacken down, his arms limp on the kitchen counter. He let out another deep breath, then looked up at Michael.

“I don’t want us to fight like this,” he admitted, voice quiet, “I’m sorry about ignoring you yesterday, I’m sorry about saying that dumb stuff just then. I just didn’t want to annoy you further or anythin’, but ha-ha, guess I ended up making it worse anyway.”

And it’s hard for Michael to hear it because Gavin sounds so sincere, so _tired,_ and it’s such a rarity to hear Gavin ever apologise, much less to that degree.

 _Just accept it and apologise back,_ he stubbornly told himself. _Don’t act like an asshole._

Michael was quiet, thinking of his next words very carefully.

“I’m sorry too, for acting like that,” Michael apologised. “I didn’t mean whatever the fuck I was saying just then.”

Gavin gave him a weak smile and went back to buttering his toast.

“I’ll see you later, Gav,” Michael said, realising he had something else he had to do and really just desperately wanted to escape any lingering awkwardness, and barely heard Gavin’s returned farewell as he walked out of the room.

  


\--

  


Come Friday, Michael at least expected that he and Gavin would be on better terms - talking, at least, overcoming the previous awkwardness.

His expectations, he learned, are apparently set way too fucking high.

Michael had turned up to the base quite early - only Jack, Geoff and Ryan were there. Geoff pulled Michael aside, asking him to go out and scope their location.

The heist was planned for the coming Tuesday. While it was still small - something they had done what felt like hundreds of times - Geoff liked to make sure he had everything planned, as many opportunities as possible accounted for to make sure very minimal - or nothing, preferably - went wrong.

The hit was a small bank, nothing too special, nothing too flash. But it was simply more of a keep up with appearances thing and to test out their weaponry anyway.

Michael had gotten a ride with Geoff and Ryan, who were going out to try and organise more for the next heist  - the bigger one, the one they were leading up to in the following months. They dropped him around the street, and he got out with a thanks, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and keeping his head down.

He watched the pavement as he walked, playing a mental game that involved avoid stepping on the cracks in the pavement as casually as he could. He made his way to the bank, removing his hands from his pockets and raising his head.

No one paid him any attention as he looked around - taking in the place. While they had blueprints, it was possible they had outdated ones, and Michael made sure he checked all the security they had.

His concentration was broken by the distant sound of engines roaring down the street. He was near the door, and he peered out the glass to see two black vehicles speeding their way down the street. An SUV and a van with tinted windows that basically screamed “ _we’re here to fuck your day up.”_

Michael, considering his week, did not appreciate someone trying to fuck his day up. The vehicles stopped outside the bank, and he watched as thirteen men clambered out of the vehicles, looking into the back of the van for what Michael could only assume was their weaponry.

From instinct, Michael went to reach for his gun, then realised with a jolt _he didn’t fucking have one._ He only had a knife, tucked away under his jacket, which was fucking useless against thirteen armed men.

There was no way could he stop the men from coming in. He didn’t have the time to think, he just acted.

He jogged up to the counter, checking behind him and seeing the men slowly approaching the doors, walking like they had all the time in the world.

Pushing aside the person at the counter who was being served, he leaned down to the worker.

What he was about to do, he realised, was the exact kind of action he fucking hated civilians pulling. But this time he was on the other side - and, really, by doing this, he was helping the Fake AH Crew for their next hit. If the crew trying to hit it now were fucked over, it would be viewed as a harder location to hit, and the Fake AH would be recognised as pulling off something other crews couldn’t.

“You’re about to be robbed,” he hissed, hurriedly, at the woman’s eyes flickered up, looking at him very suspiciously.

He sighed. “ _Behind_ me. Pull the damn _silent_ alarm.”

And he knew that this bank had one - most did, now, some fucking silent alarm that had tripped the Fake AH up once before. _Once_. They made sure _that_ same mistake was _not_ repeated.

The woman’s eyes flickered behind him, then widened as the crew opened the door. She nodded at him, reaching down to where Michael knew the trigger was for the alarm.

Michael turned just in time to see the crew flood in, already filing out into their positions. Two stood still at the front doors, guns already raised. Another two moved to the emergency exit.

They wore all black - fucking original - with ‘Anonymous’ masks. Michael scoffed, because seriously - _why._ What was meant to be a simple check-out of the location ended up with Michael now stuck inside the damn place while a robbery was going on.

_Fucking fantastic._

One stood in the middle - the leader, Michael assumed - and raised their gun, shooting a couple bullets into the air, and parts of the ceiling rained down from the holes now created.

People started screaming and cowering immediately while Michael hopped the counter, sliding in beside the shaking woman that had pulled the silent alarm.

Another bullet fired, followed by more screaming and hysterical crying, and he peered quickly over the counter. A man lay on the floor, clutching his bloody leg. Michael figured out that he had obviously tried to run for the doors - despite the fucking _armed men there, come on_ \- and had been shot for the effort.

At least they weren’t shooting to kill, Michael reasoned. Could have been a lot worse for the guy.

Michael ducked back down, quickly typing a message to Geoff.

_**So I’m stuck in the bank that’s now being robbed. Police have been notified, but would appreciate a pick-up after this is all done.** _

If the police managed to get this under control in time and asked Michael questions as a witness, being recognised from his face as being in the Fake AH wouldn’t happen. They all wore masks, and as far as Michael knew, the authorities had no clue what they actually looked like.

However, his _name_ was bound to be recognised. If they asked for his card or passport, he was fucked. He didn’t even have them _on_ him, which was definitely suspicious considering he was in a fucking _bank._ And that was probably worse than actually having it on him, because Michael Jones was a pretty common name, after all.

So, okay, that probably wasn’t good, and he really should’ve taken that into consideration before he scoped out the location, without any ID like a fucking _moron_. There was also the same possibility of the robbers checking his personal items, and they were a lot more inclined to shoot him when they saw he had none.

The hysterical crying and screaming continued, and he tapped the woman beside him in the arm. He got her attention, then glanced down at the trigger for the alarm.

“How long?” He mouthed to her, and she shook for a couple more seconds before replying.

“Ten minutes,” she mouthed back, and he nodded.

Ten minutes was pretty decent - still enough time for the Fake AH to get the job done no problem, but he just hoped it wouldn’t be the same for this crew. Seeing them locked up after stealing their damn hit - intentional or not - would cheer Michael up quite considerably.

He had to give the crew credit, though - this obviously wasn’t their first robbery. They were pretty organised, at least, at Michael had to give them even more when four of the men quickly made their way to the counters, quickly getting everyone behind them to move out into the main area with the other civilians.

Michael played the part of a scared civilian terrified for his life quite well, he had to admit. He crouched down with all the other people - a little over twenty of them, including the staff. It was a slow day, then, at least.

“None of you better have even _thought_ about pulling the fucking alarm,” one of them says, and Michael almost wanted to snicker. The lady beside him, the worker, just tensed up more and he nudged her because fuck,  _that didn’t look fucking obvious at all or anything._

Five of the men had grabbed one of the workers - the manager, or the boss, if they were smart about it - and were instructing him to open the room with all the cash in it. It was a small bank, and Michael knew it wouldn’t really have much, but the manager was really fucking persistent that he wouldn’t.

His focus was drawn away from the scene as one of the crew approached the circle of civilians that Michael was huddled with. There were four of them patrolling around - and one of them had come up to start fucking with them.

He asked for all the jewellery from everyone, which everyone took off as quickly as possible and hurried it into a pile. Michael had a ring on - one that Gavin had stolen for him on one of their first ever jobs together. Not _the_ first, but one of the earlier ones.

The job had been pretty brutal. They went to go deal with a crew that were fucking with some of the organisations that had sided with the Fake AH for protection. Geoff didn’t take to it kindly, and had sent Gavin, Michael and Ray to deal with it.

The leader was a smug prick with some serious fucking self-entitlement issues. Michael had gotten a pretty good closeup of the ring - that Michael now wore - when the leader had gone to punch Michael’s face. The punch was pretty sloppy, definitely lacked skill, and Michael had dodged it pretty easily.

When the job was done, and Michael and Gavin sat outside while waiting for Ray to get off the opposing rooftop he was sniping from, Gavin turned to him with a shy smile.

That was rare for Gavin, because at that point Michael had really only seen his arrogant, cocky smile he wore out in public while with the crew. Self-confident and reassured. That smile was pretty fucking endearing, and Michael, at that point, wanted to see more of those smiles immediately.

Gavin produced the ring, the one the leader had worn, and held it out to Michael.

“Souvenir?” He joked, but Michael could sense the doubt, the slight hint of nervousness.

Michael had taken it with a smile, and slipped it on his finger. He hadn’t taken it off since then.

Now, though, he was forced to - to hide it, because he refused to hand it over to these assholes. With quick fingers, he managed to slip it into the pocket of his jacket before they came around to him. He produced a watch - something he could replace easily - and they, thankfully, left him alone with the one item. That was the first hint he got that they obviously weren’t as experienced as Michael might’ve believed.

One of the people in the circle, some middle aged woman with way too much jewellery for this side of town, gave up half her jewellery. It was probably all fake - or at least, what she gave them was, Michael figured. She refused to give up her earrings, which made it pretty fucking obvious what really was the fortune.

The crew member had come to the same conclusion, and grabbed her arm, pointing the gun at her forehead.

“Take them the fuck out. Did you not hear us, for fuck’s sake? _Everything on you is now ours.”_

The guy was clearly riled up, definitely feeling the pressure. After all, if he couldn’t get the jewellery off some middle aged woman, what would that look like to the rest of his crew? Michael barely contained his smirk - the crew  _definitely_ weren’t as professional as he might have presumed if they weren’t exactly comfortable around each other.

Then again, the Fake AH Crew operated very differently to any other crew Michael had ever come across.

Michael glanced back over to the manager who was still refusing to open the room. Guns were being pressed against the man’s head, and Michael had to admire his resolve. He was shaking, clearly terrified, but refused to open it for the crew.

Distantly, Michael heard the sirens - meaning the police had, for once, actually gotten their act together and had been pretty organised to arrive so soon.

He wasn’t the only one to hear. Those at the door looked out and then began shouting to the leader, who stormed over and looked out, then whipped around and pointed his gun at the circle of people.

The leader let out a scream of anguish and stormed over - stepping over the man that was still lying on the ground, clutching his leg - and people in the circle began to cry and scream once again. Michael sighed.

“Which one of you fuckers called _the fucking police_? Holy shit, you just had to fucking call them. Don’t you realise what’s about to fucking happen now?” The leader was shouting, and Michael watched him carefully, watching his finger itch closer to the trigger.

“Which one of it was you? Fucking tell me before I fucking shoot all of you!” The man was swinging his gun around, pointing it at all their heads. “I’ll fucking do it!”

Michael could see the woman beside him tense up again and he quickly grabbed her hand, squeezing it and shaking his head minutely at her.

With a deep breath - and a serious fucking sense of regret because _why did he have to fucking walk in here in the first place what the fuck -_ he looked directly at the man, glaring.

The man realised Michael wasn’t shaking or crying and his mask stared directly at him. Michael decided _why the fuck not_ and smirked at the man.

The man stormed over to Michael and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him up. Michael grunted as he got to his feet, trying to pull his arm away but with no success.

“So, it was _you,_ trying to play the fucking hero,” the man sneered, his grip on Michael’s arm shifting to grab the top of his head, pulling his head in close.

“Ironic,” Michael muttered, and promptly earned a smack across the face for it. His head whipped to the side, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, trying quell some of his anger.

“Don’t play fucking games with me,” the man hissed. “You will not win.”

Michael lost some of his anger and spat at the mask - landing a nice big glob on the mustache. He grinned at the small victory.

The man pretty much _roared_ at Michael and reared his head back, and all humour from the situation disappeared as soon as the man bashed his forehead against Michael’s.

Michael’s head was knocked back, and he felt his neck crack with the force. He winced, opening his eyes to see the ceiling that was spinning and ow - ow _fuck,_ that guy had a fucking hard head behind that mask. Or the mask itself was made of some fucking painful forehead-bashing material.

He groaned, knowing that was going to really fucking hurt for a while, and took another moment before slowly bringing his head forward to stare back at the mask.

The head banging had seemed to, at least, daze the other guy a little as well. He turned in surprise when he heard the cops begin to shout outside the door, and Michael just shot the guy a smug look.

The police began to break in, and Michael could see the rising tension from the crew. The pressure they were now all under.

“Fuck! Fuck, did you get the load?” Another member shouted to one of the members that had been dealing with the manager, who shook his head.

“Don’t tell me we’re leaving here fucking empty handed!” The same member shouted, desperately, storming over to the manager.

“I don’t think you’re leaving,” Michael muttered, which - well, fuck, bad idea because now the guy that had head-butted him remembered he was there.

“We have explosives!” The head-butting guy, as Michael dubbed him, shouted to the police. “Don’t fucking come in here!”

“No, they don’t!” Michael shouted back, and the guy snarled at him and then quickly made his way behind Michael, putting his elbow around Michael’s throat and the gun at his head.

“I’ll fucking shoot him!” The guy yelled, and the police seemed to hesitate. The ones that were approaching the door hesitated, then began to lower their weapons.

Michael was pulled backwards and _ow, fuck,_ found that his head still really fucking hurt. He caught movement in the corner of his eye, glancing over to see that the manager was beginning to put up a fuss.

Due to the cops - and just the general pressure of the situation - those that had surrounded the manager failed to notice he was reaching into his coat.

 _They forgot to fucking check him,_ Michael realised. He just had to hope the guy didn’t fuck this chance up.

Naturally, he did. While pulling it out, he managed to drop the damn thing and it clattered to the ground, successfully drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

The manager made a dive for it at the exact moment as one of the crew members did, and Michael winced as one of the other crew member’s raised his gun and shot the manager.

That time, he aimed to kill.

The manager dropped to the ground, blood pooling out below his head.

However, this distraction allowed for the police to barge in, weapons raised and taking out the two guys at the door - while, at the same time, the exit door bursted open and more cops took down the other two standing guard.

It was brutal, and Michael realised he only had moments to act before his brains were probably blown out. He had to act while the guy was distracted, panicked from the sudden arrival.

He swung his elbow back, managing to hit the guy with enough force for him to stumble back, coughing and his grip slackening immediately. Michael ducked to cover as more police began to fill in.

There was a worrying amount of police, Michael realised. It hit him with a jolt that the police had probably expected the Fake AH Crew - no other crew, after all, got this amount of cops disposed for them.

He had to snicker a little at that - then figured he should probably get right the fuck out of the place before they placed a blanket around him and started questioning him.

Thankfully, though, the group of civilians were running to the exit, and he managed to slip out with them. More police awaited outside, and Michael cursed, realising he couldn’t just walk out.

 _ **Need that pick up asap,**_ Michael was able to text to Geoff before he was approached. He put on his best dazed, innocent civilian appearance.

“Are you alright?” The policeman asked, and Michael had to wonder how much differently this conversation would be going if he realised he was talking to Michael Jones.

Michael then figured two guns pointed at each other didn’t really count as conversation, so there was that.

Michael nodded, then glanced nervously at his phone. “I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I was texting my mum and I stopped responding and she’s panicking, do you mind if - Oh God, she must be so worried, I’m so sorry, I need to call her.”

The policeman, obviously used to dealing with it, nodded and then turned to attend another civilian as Michael put the phone to his ear, dialing Geoff.

“Yes mum, I’m _fine,”_ he said as greeting, and Geoff snickered on the other end of the line. “I mean, my head fucking kills and I want to get out of here _right the fuck now.”_ Michael finished, mumbling the whole thing so he wasn’t heard.

He pretended to pace, trying to calm down his ‘worried mother’. He managed to pace far enough away to turn down a street without being seen and moved to the location Geoff instructed him to.

“The footage needs to be wiped,” Michael grumbled onto the phone as he spotted his getaway vehicle.

“Onto it,” Geoff replied. “Your head seriously okay?”

Michael grumbled. “It feels like I just got fucking ground-pounded on the head by a sumo wrestler and his friends. How the fuck did that fucking guy manage to make it hurt _this fucking much.”_

“I have to wonder the same,” Geoff mused, “after all, your skull is fucking thick as bricks.”

“Wow, thanks,” Michael dead-panned, and Geoff laughed.

“See you in a bit,” Geoff farewelled before he hung up. Michael took a glance at his driver - someone he knew worked for Geoff or Burnie - he wasn’t too sure anymore with anyone - but they were unfamiliar to him.

He didn’t bother with small-talk, just cradled his head in the backseat and winced at every bounce in the road. The adrenaline of the whole thing had left, and left him feeling drained, sore, and tired as fuck.

  


\--

  


So the world liked to fuck with Michael Jones - or, at least, Gavin Free did - because his day somehow seemed to plummet even further downhill.

When he walked into base, Jack approached him with an ice pack, pressing it to his head and fussing. Michael didn’t mind it, just let Jack do his thing as Michael sat his ass down on a chair and just decided moving was well out of his capability right now.

Jack had asked for the story, and Michael gave it to him in as short of detail as possible - every movement, every word, made his head pound. When finished, Jack just stared at him for a few moments, stunned.

“Wow, weird to think you were on the other side of that whole thing,” Jack finally said, and Michael nodded, then winced when he realised that was real fucking painful.

Michael began to prod at his cheek, where the guy had slapped him, and frowned. Jesus Christ, he was only meant to check out the damn place. Which ended up in him getting involved in a fucking bank robbery, getting slapped, punched and a gun to his fucking head. And also watched some poor idiot get shot and killed.

He sighed heavily, slumping down in the chair and closing his eyes. He was really fucking ready for this week to be over.

“Michael?” Jack asked, something tentative in it, and Michael cracked his eyes open to glance at him.

“Mhm?” Michael replied, giving him the go-ahead for whatever he wanted to say.

“Why didn’t you just get the fuck out of there and _then_ call the police or something?” Jack questioned, and Michael’s eyes shot open as he realised - holy fucking shit, he could’ve just fucking done that.

He could’ve just fucking done that and that would’ve been fucking _it. But no._

Groaning, he slumped even further down and considered how much his life fucking sucked that week.

“I mean, maybe it was logical. What if they did have explosives in there?” Jack continued, in an obvious attempt to make Michael not linger on how damn stupid he had been. “Besides, it was probably best you got in there. At least we know where the silent alarm trigger is.”

“Fucking woo-hoo,” Michael said, completely monotone.

“I’ll leave you to your moping, then,” Jack announced, standing up from the chair he had been resting on. “I think only Gav’s around right now. The others should be back by tonight.”

Michael nodded, pressing the ice pack harder to his head and hoping somehow the chair could consume him so he wouldn’t have to face the world again.

His eyes opened when he heard approaching footsteps, and he recognised Gavin standing a few steps away, staring at him warily.

“Hello,” Gavin tried, cautiously, and Michael scoffed. Great, not on the terms he had hoped for.  
  
_He’s probably just cautious in case you lash out after having a shit-tastic week,_ he reasoned with himself.

“Didn’t go well?” Gavin asked, after an awkward pause, and Michael just stared at him blankly, raising and eyebrow to show his unimpressed face, then gestured to the icepack on his head.

“Oh,” Gavin muttered, “bad luck, boi.”

And Michael knew he should be saying more, but he just nodded and groaned because - well, fine, if Gavin didn’t want to talk to him, then Michael didn’t want to talk to _him_ either. Besides, talking made his head fucking hurt like even more of a bitch.

“I, uh, do you want to be left alone?” Gavin asked, nervously, and Michael glanced at him again, trying to get a read on him. He was tense, nervous, and Michael knew it’d only serve to irritate him - and, in turn, would send both of them multiple steps backwards with each other, which wasn’t what Michael wanted.

“Head hurts like a bitch,” Michael tried to explain - hoping it was decent enough to excuse the fact he didn’t really want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to talk to Gavin while he was in a sour mood in case of a repeat of the previous days.

Gavin nodded, unsure, then walked out of the room. Michael felt the lingering awkwardness and realised, with irritation, that that awkwardness was what he wanted to _overcome_ with Gavin that day, not bring it about in an even bigger dosage.

Michael was pretty sure he was about to become one with the chair due to the way he had sunken so far into it at that point.

 

\--

  
And, here’s the thing. That day definitely sucked - dear God, did it _fucking suck._ His head pounded, he felt unsure of where he stood with Gavin, and now their location for the heist would probably be on extra security.

So, by Saturday, Michael’s kind of hoping the world doesn’t fucking hate him and will make it up to him by treating him well. And, besides, it’s the weekend.

Nope. The world pretty much said, on that day “fuck Michael Jones in particular.”

He’d been called in by Geoff - they all had been - to discuss their hit, and what Michael had to put up with. As well as some facts that Geoff and Ryan managed to pull up for their bigger heist. Michael, in all honesty, wasn’t listening at all.

Gavin, it seemed, was taking wanting to be ‘left alone’ from the previous day way too fucking seriously. He avoided making eye contact with Michael, pretty much pretended he wasn’t even in the same fucking room.  
  
When Michael had attempted to pull him aside - to say, hey, he would kind of fucking like to talk to his own boyfriend and wasn’t really a fan of this whole left alone thing after all - Gavin excused himself before Michael could even get a word out.

“The fuck?” Michael had grumbled, and turned when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He looked to see Geoff, who shot him a worried glance, then looked at Gavin who was walking out of the room.

Michael, in that moment, resented that _worried_ look that Geoff now had. _Sympathy._

Geoff waited a few moments before he was certain Gavin was out of earshot before leaning down to mutter quietly to Michael.

“I think he might’ve been concerned you knew about his fuck up,” Geoff admitted, “He was helping us, Ryan and I, yesterday. He fucked something up, lead us to the wrong place. Feels pretty shit about it, but it’s probably our fault for that. We had a go at him, didn’t realise he has been working so hard with Burnie. He’s just stressed - and it’s not just working with Burnie, after all,” Geoff told him, and Michael frowned, his eyebrows furrowing.

Geoff gave him a pointed look, and Michael took a few seconds before catching on, shrinking back slightly with something like guilt.

“He’s not sure what to say to you,” Geoff continued. “After all, you’re the one he’s usually the most confident with, the one that’ll listen to him no matter what. Seriously, is everything okay with you two? I don’t like to get involved - no, that’s a lie, I’m concerned about you idiots.”

Michael didn’t really register it because he was still reeling over the idea that it was his fault for fucking with Gavin’s head, for managing to make him distracted enough to fuck up on a job.

“Look, you need to fix this, between you two. For both your sakes. Or, if nothing else, for the professional side. Can’t have this crew falling apart because the two of you can’t play nice with each other, especially for this heist. I need both of your heads _in this,_ alright?” Geoff asserted, and Michael managed to nod slowly.

Shit - _shit_ , he was fucking everything up, wasn’t he? The both of them needed to sort it out before it festered into something worse. He needed to make sure that the both of them worked it out and fucking _soon._

Except, turned out, Gavin had gone with Ray and Jack to sort out some other job - something that required them to stay out for the night, then return the next day. Michael instead, in an attempt to keep his mind off it, occupied himself with checking all their weaponry, making sure they had everything ready for the upcoming heist.

  


\--

  


Sunday doesn’t bring about any progress with Gavin. The three of them hadn’t gotten back until well after dark - when Michael was home at his apartment - and according to Geoff, tired to the bone and fucking exhausted, so talking to him probably wouldn’t be wise.

However, it brings about progress with the heist. The trio had managed to find another place they could hit, instead of the bank, where they suspected the police were still waiting for the Fake AH to make their move onto it. It was another bank, slightly bigger, but not one that they had hit before - and the hit would be moved to Wednesday.

“Brand-new,” Ray had remarked. “Literally begging for us to go fucking rob it with its ‘high-quality security’.”

On Monday, Michael had dropped into the base despite not being needed for the day, in hopes of seeing Gavin. He, unfortunately, also had the day off. Michael texted him, asking to meet up, but Gavin responded that he was out for the day with Dan, who had recently flown in to help Burnie.

Burnie was organising something of his own - which was why he needed to bring in Gavin occasionally, and even Dan from over the waters. Michael was too occupied with Fake AH to really go snooping about and asking, but he had heard it had something to do with taking over some more multi-million dollar companies and their territories.

But, whatever, it wasn’t Michael’s concern - and he felt a twinge of bitterness rise up because if Burnie hadn’t been planning this, then Gavin wouldn’t have had to go out for him, maybe wouldn’t have fucked up with Ryan and Geoff, and Dan wouldn’t be in town meaning he and Gavin could _talk._

Tuesday, Michael resolved to himself. He’d talk to Gavin on Tuesday.

Except it went fucking _terribly._

There had been a sudden surprise with the bank they now planned on hitting - an _extreme_ amount of added security, enough to be a real worry for the heist. While the newer bank was a bigger target than the other one Michael had been held up in, and would take more resources and was just a bigger job in general, it was definitely unusual - and fucking annoying - at the amount of excessive security they were using.

“We gotta do it,” Geoff told them, solemnly. “We can’t pull out now, we need to do a hit. This is the one we’re best planned for, even with this sudden, and very fucking irritating, change of plans.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jack had reassured. “Just some added precautions. We’ll have to be more wary, more careful, more _quick._ We can do it, though, of course.”

“Gavin, I need you to fucking scope this out. Find out _why_ there’s this added security, if you can. And then focus on the actual patterns of the security, find us the best time to strike. Got it?” Geoff ordered, and Gavin nodded, already moving to get to work. “We need this by tonight,” Geoff urgently added, and Gavin just turned and shot him a thumbs-up.

Michael was paired up with Ray to go find out if any of their contacts knew anything about the sudden security changes. It was a long and tedious day, and Michael was pretty much itching to blow something up. Especially in the face of a few of their contacts who were complete and utter _fucking assholes._

When he returned to base, though, to check in with Geoff, Gavin was sitting on the kitchen table, watching the sun steadily go down through the window. He glanced up at Michael, gave him a weak grin, but didn’t say anything.

Michael glanced at Ray, who caught the hint and went to talk to Geoff for the both of them.

He approached Gavin as casually as he could, trying to make sure and irritation from the day wasn’t visible in his posture - he didn’t need Gavin thinking it was directed at him.

“How’s it going, Gav?” Michael asked, leaning up against the counter beside him.

Gavin let out some weird kind of gurgling noise. “Terrible,” Gavin groaned.

Michael waited a few moments for an explanation, but received none. “Uh, elaborate?” Michael prodded, and Gavin just shook his head.

“‘m too tired to explain, Michael,” Gavin replied. Michael took a closer glance at Gavin and immediately felt his stomach sink. Gavin had dark bags under his eyes, clearly lacking sleep, and just looked - like Geoff had described - bone fucking tired.

“You need to sleep, Gav, you look like shit,” Michael told him, wincing when it came out harsher than he meant for it too. He was just stuck in ‘gruff’ mode from all the stupid people he had to deal with that day.

Gavin shot him a wary look, then it hardened. Michael, to say the least, was a little taken aback.

“Thanks, _Michael,_ but I think I can look after myself,” Gavin snapped, and Michael snorted, but was absolutely _not_ amused.

“Wow, who shoved a pole up your ass? Chill, just saying,” Michael responded, but he could feel the bitterness rising under his skin, the insults beginning to burn on his tongue.

Gavin sighed heavily. “‘m sorry again, I’m just. So tired right now. Tired of people telling me what to do all this week. And we have the heist tomorrow and I -” Gavin broke off, looking at Michael cautiously.

“And you?” Michael encouraged, trying to gently persuade him because something was _clearly_ bugging him, something he wasn’t telling Michael.

“Stressed, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I can do it myself,” Gavin reassured, and Michael’s head was fucking spinning at how fast Gavin’s attitude was changing. He knew he got this way before a heist - particularly worsened when he ran on no sleep and was fueled by Red Bull.

“So you keep saying,” Michael muttered, but Gavin caught it and frowned.

“You told me you wanted to be alone. So, I’m just giving you space,” Gavin muttered, quietly - and Michael knew - he fucking _knew_ that wasn’t the reason Gavin was pushing him away. Michael’s back straightened, and he stood up to full height to stare at Gavin directly.

“I didn’t _mean_ it,” Michael argued, hands up. “My head had been fucking bashed, okay, I was just pissy.”

“Sure sounded like you meant it,” Gavin replied, a slightly petulant tone in his voice.

“Come on Gav, you gotta know by now that I might say these things but I don’t - I don’t _mean them,”_ Michael pleaded, a little desperately, because it seemed like Gavin couldn’t see that anymore.

When Michael had first joined the crew, Gavin had been the first to pick up on Michael’s pseudo anger, and Michael had instantly taken liking to him because he seemed to understand what Michael did and didn’t mean when he blew up at someone.

Gavin slid off the counter and shook his head, passing Michael. “I gotta figure this thing out before the heist. Goodnight, Michael.”

Michael watched Gavin walk out the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach - dread, he realised, _fear -_ that left him unnerved and uneasy. Something began to build up in his chest, leaving his heart pounding.

He knew he liked Gavin, of course he did, but now there was that burning question, that left him wondering, for the first ever time, if dating him was what he really wanted. Wondering if Gavin didn’t want to be with him anymore, had _enough_ of Michael, if he even liked him, if he wanted to move on.

Doubt, Michael realised. It was doubt that now, for the first time, was beginning to creep in on their relationship together.

A sickening feeling began to churn in his stomach, and he cupped his hands over his face and groaned as loudly as he could into them. He wanted to scream, really, but figured Gavin might still be in earshot.

 _Focus,_ he told himself, once he removed his hands. _You have a heist to pull off. You can fix things later._

 

**Author's Note:**

> In which I attempt my first multi-chapter story and hope it isn't too terrible :')


End file.
